Secretariat faced significant hurdles in the G1 Wood Memorial, his final prep for the Kentucky Derby – as Steve Dennis recalls in the latest instalment of his popular series detailing the legendary colt’s 1973 campaign race-by-race
With dramatic victories in the Bay Shore and the Gotham behind him, Secretariat was earmarked for one more prep race to take him into the Kentucky Derby, a testing early-season schedule of three races in five weeks that no high-class three-year-old would be expected to endure in the modern era, outside the Triple Crown series itself.
Horses were horses back then … and so Secretariat would return once more to Aqueduct for the G1 Wood Memorial over a mile-and-an-eighth, the furthest he’d ever been asked to stretch out.
“There are also unknown unknowns, things we don’t know we don’t know.”
Secretariat knew, of course. But he was the only one, and he couldn’t say. If only they could talk – but he did his best to get the information across. With just two weeks between the Gotham and the Wood Memorial, there was no room for things to go wrong. But they were going wrong.
Two days before the Wood, Secretariat galloped in lacklustre fashion, alarming his work-rider Jimmy Gaffney. The following morning, Secretariat went a mile like an old man, and was out of breath doing so. This was very much out of character for the energetic son of Bold Ruler, who was trying to tell someone something.
On the morning of the Wood, the message finally got through. While giving Big Red his routine pre-race once-over, the New York Racing Association veterinarian discovered an abscess inside the colt’s upper lip.
It was – according to William Nack’s lovingly annotated biography of the horse – blue, the size of a quarter-piece and obviously sore. The vet, a Dr Gilman, told trainer Lucien Laurin that the abscess wouldn’t bother Secretariat; famous last words and all that.
There were also several other things with the potential to bother Secretariat that day. Out of the west had come the Santa Anita Derby winner Sham, whose name and fortunes would become inextricably linked with those of Secretariat.
Bronzed California surfer dude
Sham was a rangy, loose-limbed, lean individual with a dazzling presence, a bronzed California surfer dude with a bright white smile and the charisma to match. Sham was the real deal.
He had upset the odds-on Linda’s Magic at Santa Anita, with just a hint of controversy after his barnmate Knightly Dawn had impeded the favourite, a habitual front-runner, just out of the gate and fatally compromised the market leader’s chance. The stewards waved it off, but the rumour and rancour lingered.
Sham was intended to be the gleaming point of a three-pronged assault on the Wood by trainer Frank ‘Pancho’ Martin, with Knightly Dawn his wingman again and Beautiful Music packing down alongside them, all three in the ownership of construction millionaire Sigmund Sommer.
This arrangement – perfectly legal, of course – caught the eye of Charlie Hatton, the doyen of turf writers, who subtly, subtextually questioned Martin’s intentions.
Martin, a combustible, impetuous character, took exception to this viewpoint and lost his short-fused Cuban temper. If that was what people thought, he decided, then **** ’em. On raceday morning Martin scratched Knightly Dawn and Beautiful Music, a nose-cutting-off, face-spiting call that – by removing two noted speed horses – altered the complexion of the Wood Memorial entirely.
It left eight horses in the gate, including Bay Shore and Gotham runner-up Champagne Charlie, who was 8-1 on the morning line, plus Gotham third Flush and Step Nicely, twice third behind Secretariat as a two-year-old. There was also shock Louisiana Derby winner Leo’s Pisces and the third horse from the Fair Grounds, Secretariat’s barnmate Angle Light, who was now the lone speed horse thanks to Martin’s hasty nature.
Hollywood blockbuster archetype
Secretariat was 3-10 at the windows (coupled with Angle Light), with Sham a 5-2 chance. So it appeared a two-horse race for sure, east against west, the undisputed champ against the rising star, the archetype of the Hollywood blockbuster of time immemorial, of a million tap-room debates.
But don’t all the best stories have a twist in the tale? This time Secretariat would not go to the lead, as he had in the Gotham. Sore lip notwithstanding, he couldn’t get there. Even when there’s no room for things to go wrong, they go wrong. The bell rang and the gates blew open.
Jacinto Vasquez gunned Angle Light forward from his outside post, the speed horse using his speed. Sham broke smartly from the two-hole but Secretariat was a step slow and jockey Ron Turcotte let him find his feet, gave him time.
At the clubhouse turn Angle Light was two lengths clear of Sham in second place, eight lengths clear of Secretariat, who was last. Vasquez made the back-stretch and turned the speed-spigot down to a trickle, coasting along on the lead.
Behind him, Jorge Velasquez was sitting in the catbird seat on Sham, his mount stalking a steady pace as he kept one eye out for the inevitable rushing drive of Secretariat. Until then, why hurry?
That was Vasquez’s attitude too, as he let Angle Light dawdle through the first quarter in 24⅗s, the half in 48⅕s. It wasn’t a race, it was a Sunday stroll. Sham was loitering with pent-up intent, Velasquez still wondering when Secretariat would come to him. Turcotte – who, crucially, had not been told about the abscess – was wondering whether he could.
As the gimlet gaze of 43,416 spectators burned into the blue and white checks on Turcotte’s back, he began to realise that today was going to be different. He was trying to jolly Secretariat along, nudging him to the outside, moving his hands, asking the time-honoured question. And there was no answer.
‘He was – astonishingly, incredibly – beat’
Time moved like molasses. Angle Light laid down three-quarters of a mile in 1:12⅕s, Vasquez sitting as still as a birdwatcher. The race had simmered nicely, but it was time for Velasquez to turn up the heat. He sent Sham rolling after Angle Light and as they came around the turn, all eyes flicked back to find Secretariat. Where was Big Red? Fifth, going nowhere fast. He was – astonishingly, incredibly – beat.
At the top of the lane Angle Light had a length and a half on Sham, Vasquez and Velasquez both going to the whip, the gloves off at last. Passing the eighth-pole, Vasquez went all-in on Angle Light and pulled two lengths ahead. Somewhere behind them, out of shot, out of contention, out of mind, Secretariat hauled his way impotently past Step Nicely into fourth place.
And now Sham came on, that good-looking surfer dude finally catching the rising tide of Velasquez’s agitation and riding it into shore. Now there was a length between Angle Light and Sham, now a half-length. Now a neck. Sham gained with every long stride until the wire came and the race was done and Angle Light was still in front by a head, the Wood won by a brave horse and a brilliant tactical ride from Jacinto Vasquez.
Secretariat came along in his own time for third, four lengths behind Sham. He never quit, but that was all you could say. It was the worst performance of his career to date and, in the perfect lucidity of hindsight, likely the worst of his entire career. “He just didn’t fire,” Turcotte told Laurin, who was aghast at winning the race with the wrong horse.
The big Saturday crowd was feeling short-changed, although not in a financial sense, as Angle Light and Secretariat were coupled on the tote board and no-one who bet the red horse lost out.
But they had come to see greatness and grace and the right winner, and had instead seen the champ let his unconsidered barnmate run loose on an easy lead, and in their disappointment they lavished Turcotte and his horse with vivid invective, doubting the ability that two minutes earlier they had so eagerly anticipated. Never underestimate the sensibilities of the New York sportsman.
‘He just didn’t have his punch’
Sticks and stones, though. In the tumultuous aftermath, Turcotte found a little more detail for the reporters already halfway through typing their stories of how Secretariat was all washed up, how he didn’t stay the distance, how he couldn’t win the Derby now, a nine-point-type, slightly politer version of the view from the grandstands.
“He just didn’t have his punch today,” said the rider. “I tried to move him up, but he didn’t respond when I hit him at about the half‐mile pole. Coming into the stretch I got into him again, but once more I felt that he wasn’t himself. He finished good, but not with his usual kick.”
Laurin was thrust into the unwanted role of diplomat between Angle Light’s owner Edwin Whittaker and the disbelieving Penny Chenery, head of the Meadow Stable, in which name Secretariat ran.
The trainer did his best, under the circumstances. “Each horse had to run his own race,” said Laurin. “They have two different owners and I couldn’t use one to help the other if it hurt him.
“Angle Light is the one who likes to run on the front end, and he did. Secretariat just didn’t seem to show as much fire in the stretch as expected. Kentucky? Well, I’ll have to talk it over.”
Finally, Vasquez, the architect of the outrageous heist, had his turn. “I didn’t steal it,” he said. “He’s a nice horse. I know we went slow, but I didn’t know we were going to finish so well.”
Vasquez could smile all he liked. It was indeed daylight robbery in front of thousands of witnesses, but it was no felony, just exceptional sleight of hand.
The post-race analysis would go on for a long time, and would not be restricted to Laurin, Turcotte, Chenery and Whittaker. Everyone had plenty to say. Not Secretariat, though. His mouth hurt.
Post script
Five days after the Wood Memorial, the abscess under Secretariat’s upper lip burst of its own accord, and the pain began to subside. The Kentucky Derby was nine days away. Angle Light would be there. Sham would be there. And so would Secretariat.
• Visit the dedicated Secretariat website at secretariat.com
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